"No rest for the wicked, no peace for the good."

-James S.A. Corey, Abaddon's Gate

The door was ripped open, and light shone into the sparsely furnished cell. The few cots were hardly enough to hold the occupants, and moldy straw heaped on the floor gave scant comfort. The bright light was blinding to those who had been without for hours or even days.

A face cast in shadow from the torches burning on the corridor walls loomed indistinctly in the open doorway. A young, male voice sounded “Everyone. Good news, as of now you are no longer prisoners!”

Surprised groans and bewildered faces greeted the announcement.

“But there is bad to go with the good.”

One of the men roused himself sufficiently and asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You are all drafted into the Volstedt Militia.”

The group with Alyssa, Mireille, Alea, Iseret, and Calvin stood aside as the men and women from the newly christened Volstedt Militia gathered the prisoners at the side of the square. Brecht was calling out orders, and Rolf was assisting in whatever capacity needed.

“Mh. What now?” Mireille peeled a dried spot of blood from her leather armor.

“We see to it that we rejoin the academy group at Fort Wolfsbane,” Calvin stated matter of factly.

“I can’t.” Alyssa mustered up her courage and looked at the older magician.

“Mh. You will most likely die.” Calvin looked her in the eye. “I cannot manhandle you across the countryside. If you really don’t want to go I cannot force you.”

Nodding and not trusting herself to answer Alyssa turned and looked at Mireille and Alea.

“I’m coming with you. You could not get rid of me if you tried!” Mireille grinned, but there was apprehension in her gaze.

Alea’s face was inscrutable with the blindfold obscuring it, but then she nodded too.

“Then we see to it that everything here is reasonably settled. And go our separate ways.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then raised his head looking at the still bustling courtyard and the cautious glances thrown their way.

The evening came and the sun slowly sunk behind the distant blue peaks of the mountain range.

Brecht raised his glass, and the beer inside sparkled in the light of the mage globes. The mansion they had appropriated had once belonged to the local magistrate.

“I hope to find you all healthy and in good spirits! Today we did the impossible and liberated our fair town from the traitorous scum of the von Nordmarks!”

Cheers resounded as the speech dragged on. Most were distracted by the food but also not half as bored as they could have been.

The hall was not large as far as their experience with the academy or some of the houses in Kronenburg went, but it was nevertheless enough to house a good hundred people in comfort. The hall was three stories high, and balconies looked down from above where more of the townsfolk had gathered. The windows were dark mirrors reflecting the light of candles and mage globes.

Caskets with wine and preserved foods were opened and unceremoniously shared among those present, and the atmosphere had a strange sort of desperate liveliness.

The three girls and Calvin had appropriated one of the balconies for their use. Alyssa and Mireille were eating pickled apples while Alea was eating some strawberry preserves on toasted bread.

“Let me have a bite!” Mireille leaned forward and shamelessly bit into the bread Alea was holding before chewing contentedly.

Alea frowned and looked at the marred perfection of her meticulously prepared feast.

Alyssa smiled, and her gaze was drawn to the windows. Ice flowers grew on the glass, and the darkness beyond let her see her own reflection. A pale, thin girl with white hair, flowing across slender shoulders. The left eye a dark lightless abyss, the right an amethyst star. She might have grown, but she was certainly too thin. It seemed a strong breeze would blow her over.

The festivities below reached a crescendo, and laughter echoed to the high ceiling and along the side corridors. Iseret returned a forced smile and Rolf took that as an invitation leaning forward. “What of it, my cold-blooded beauty? Care for something to keep you warm at night?” He laughed at his own wit.

“I think you would find a more appreciative audience in some of the other ladies.”

The eyes that had been devouring her turned stubborn. “Hey, wait…!”

The snake woman twisted between some of the rebels, completely absorbed in the celebration, and was gone.

“Damn it!” Rolf hit the table with his mug while Isolde, sitting a table over, gave a short, derisive laugh.

Outside in the small garden, Iseret looked at the distant moon and, with a whisper mist coalesced beside her, and Vanessa sat on a stone railing carved with vines and grapes, nearly submerged in snow. Together they silently looked at the frozen lake and the eddies of snow blown by the wind.

Strains of music and laughter came from the half-closed door behind them, and the world was still.

Slowly Iseret tilted her head, looking at her companion. Raising her hand, she stroked the hair fine as silk before drawing Vanessa into her arms. The small body cold as the snow dusting the barren trees.

Margramus the Golden, the wizard of the Volstedt hills.

Once, he had been a well-known figure among the elder wizards. That was before he failed the rituals keeping his failing body hale. Before his mind started to go. The rituals were translated from the book of passage and waning, the original long lost with sunken Alissair. They described ways to focus mana to strengthen the life force, anchor the soul...and they were...exceedingly difficult. None under the rank of an elder wizard had ever successfully finished the rites, and even those that did had to contend with their bodies changing and slowly worsening conditions. Expensive ingredients and the raw power needed put further strain on those that sought longevity.

And he had failed.

The rites had to be consecutive, and you could not fail once or miss the right time. There were other ways to prolong your life, but the rites were what a proper human wizard aspired to.

The pity had hurt him worst. The sneers, the malice hidden in some of his colleague's eyes was at least a sign that he mattered, that he was a threat. The pity...was for someone lesser. Someone flawed. Someone who would be insignificant for long-term plans.

With a wave of his hand, the fireplace flared, and heat radiated from the empty space where he had conjured a spark of true fire. Biting into the cooked ham, he wrinkled his mouth. The food was very lacking, but with the war and the rebellion, there was not enough fresh produce, and the results were readily apparent.

A knock sounded from the door to the dining room, and he raised his head, frowning all the while. “Yes?”

The door opened, and the maid bowed deeply. “There is a visitor, and he insisted.” She shivered, “That I relay a greeting.” She cleared her throat and said in the tone of someone reciting from memory, “The lady has taken notice.”

“Is he still waiting? Invite them in! Don’t stand around gawping!” Margramus rubbed his hands excitedly.

“R..right away, sir!” The maid curtsied and hastily ran outside, coming back shortly with a figure draped in grey robes and cloak.

Brushing back the hood, pale blue hair was revealed, and dark, steely eyes inspected the shrunken old man in expensive brocade robes. Slender, pointed ears inscribed with tiny black runes and sharp-edged features clearly showed the elven ancestry, but the rounded eyes and somewhat fuller figure showed the influence of human blood. White and delicate fingers emerged from the robes cuffs, and a scroll bound with a silver clasp was thrown on the table.

Despite the somewhat rude gesture, the enchanting voice coming from the visitor was respectful. “I greet Margramus the Golden in the name of my mistress. You can refer to me as Sable.”

“Ah! Please have a seat. Do you want to drink, eat? Anything you need?” The old wizard clenched his shaking hands and gritted his teeth. The flattering words were clearly foreign to his usual demeanor.

“Perhaps later. First, I want to thank you for your kind warning. The mistress has other matters to occupy her attention, but we, her loyal subjects, tend to her wishes even in her absence. And I can assure you, she will know your worth.” Cold eyes accompanied a smile.

“That is...gratifying to hear.” He grabbed a cup standing on the table and drank deep of the wine it contained, spilling some from the corners of his mouth in his haste. Brushing away the residues with his sleeve, he inspected the scroll still lying on the table. “And, if I may ask, what is your purpose in telling me this? Not that it is unpleasant to hear.”

“We require your further assistance in an important matter.”

“Retaking the town? I hardly think I will be very useful as I am now.” The wizard self-deprecatingly gestured at his feeble body.

“You could say that, but no. We don’t think we will require aid in that regard, but there is one thing we would like your cooperation with.”

“Anything.” The desperation and self-loathing in his eyes caused the half-elf’s smile to fade before returning to its usual brightness.

“There is a group of mages in town who, if my sources are accurate, had a big part in suppressing our troops and may have even been a thorn in our side for much longer. One of them is a necromancer aided by an old artifact and quite dangerous.”

“Oh, is that so?” The old wizard raised an eyebrow. “That is unexpected to hear. And how can I help with this matter?”

“We are very sure that she will not stand idly by when we attack the town. And troops are already near that will prevent her from leaving prematurely. Her magic is large-scale in nature, and the necromantic energies present will be tempting for her to use. We need you to prepare a special surprise.” Her smile, for the half-elf seemed to be a woman, grew a bit more genuine.

Inside a room in the inn that had been their first stop in Volstedt Mireille burrowed deeper into the blankets. Alyssa sat on the bed’s sideboard, brushing her long hair while looking into the pale winter sky. She felt the void energies growing stronger and estimated that it would be days at most before the same spontaneous raising of the dead happened here as it had in the places they had visited before. Shuddering at the thought of a whole town's graveyard, unburied dead, deceased animals waking and killing, she put away the comb and shook Mireille’s arm.

“Hey, wake up! It’s morning already.”

“Mh.”

“Don’t play that game with me. You were awake since I washed up. Now it’s your turn.”

“Mmmh.”

Alyssa walked up to the window and forced it open with some difficulty. The frame firmly frozen. Shaking it a bit clear, ice broke off and fell on the roofed veranda scarring the pristine snow only marred by some indentations made by crow’s feet to the side.

Bitter cold invaded the room and made her breath steam even as she hardly noticed the cold as had become the usual.

“Ah! What are you doing!? Do you want to kill me!?” Mireille grabbed all the blankets she could reach and huddled like a human caterpillar in the corner.

“Will you get up if I close the window?”

“Yes! Shut the damn thing!”

Alea gazed at her two friends through the eyes of her construct. Long since ready to depart. Butler One had tidied her part of the room and was now waiting patiently behind her.

Alyssa gasped and shut the window. A sharp pain, more like the prick of a needle, shot through her head, and she pressed her right hand to her temple while leaning against the wall.

“Everything alright?” Mireille quickly got up, forgetting her protest and the cold.

The white-haired girl shook her head as the sensation came again. Flashes of a forest and flames, bolts of ice, and then nothing. She felt Calmund von Nordmark's grim regard filter into her mind. And without words, she signaled him to retreat toward the town.

“My undead are under attack in the forest.” Alyssa grimaced. “And their sophistication is not only a good thing. Whoever made them probably had a better way of controlling them. If that happened in a normal fight, I would have a serious problem.”

Somewhere outside, a bell began to ring frantically.

“So much for sleeping in.” Mireille looked disgruntled. “Let me at least have a quick wash!”

“Five minutes.” Alea gave a faint smile at her friend's surprise. “What? Alyssa was uncomfortable, so I only wanted to help.”

“Mh.” Mireille raised an eyebrow and then shook her head, walking quickly to the bowl of water, breaking the thin ice that had formed, and quickly dunking a towel before doing her morning ablutions.

Alyssa gazed at her shivering friend and began a longer incantation summoning warmth into a metal ball ornament adorning one of the bed posts. Heat began to radiate from the pewter sphere raising the temperature from freezing to uncomfortable.

A knock from the door made them turn toward the entrance to their small four-person room.

“Yes?” Alyssa stood protectively before the half-naked Mireille and called.

“It’s me,” Calvin called back. “We seem to have underestimated the reaction speed of the Nordmark troops. I just heard that there were soldiers coming from the woods.”

“Fantastic.” Mireille groused while drying her hair.

“Be quick about it and meet me in the common room.”

“We will be quick,” Alyssa promised, disregarding Mireille’s groan of protest.

Soon they tramped down the stairs, backpacks packed and ready.

Calvin sat together with Isolde at one of the tables, eating warmed-up gruel.

“Ah, there you are. Isold here…” He turned to address the woman, seemingly still hung over from the night before, “Thanks for the heads up, by the way.” before continuing in their direction, “Came by to inform us of the troops surrounding the town.”

“Surrounding?” Alyssa asked. “That would need a lot of men.”

“There are hordes of undead. As far as I have heard, the live troops are only several dozens, maybe a hundred all in all.” Calvin cast a questioning gaze at the still-suffering Isolde.

“Yes. That’s what I was told. Could the damn beasts not wait until tomorrow? Not one day to celebrate? What’s that but torture under another name?”

“And does Brecht have a plan?” Calvin asked.

“When doesn’t he? But even he seemed a bit surprised at the speed of their response. There must be something else that drew them here even before it became necessary because of us rebels.” She gave their small group a very ostentatious once-over. “And I cannot think who could have drawn so much attention.”

“Stow it.” Calvin grimaced. “Without us, you would probably have waited until spring thaw before acting.”

“Then you don’t know, Brecht.” Isolde laughed mirthlessly before flinching and holding her smarting head. “I will never drink a drop of alcohol again.” Massaging her temples, she nodded toward the table. “Eat. And when you are finished, come with me. Brecht has called an emergency council, and he and I think you should be included.”

Mireille chose that moment to return with three plates heaped with bread and a bowl of gruel for each of them. There was even some dry cheese.

Iseret sat down beside them, holding another.

“Morning.” Mireille eyed the snake woman and, getting only a nod in return, went back to eating quickly and efficiently.

Soon they had finished their food, and the tavernkeeper, Vaulkner, and his daughter Rachel cleaned the table. The man looked worried, and as he accompanied them to the front door, he quietly said. “Please tell us if you hear anything concrete.”

Calvin nodded at him before walking outside into the cold, white streets. “We will. Lock the doors and windows. I have a bad feeling about this.”